The girls remind Cosette of their names before dragging her off to the couch to chat.
I pull out seven wine glasses and open a few bottles of wine.
“What’s happening here, Sir Fakealot? Or is it Shady McFakey?” Gus purrs in my ear, which causes me to reach in my refrigerator to grab my secret stash of olives while he attacks a bag of pretzels. The dude has the attention span of a small flea. I drop an olive in his glass of red wine before handing it to him. Spence, Jesse, and I each grab two glasses and walk out to the living room and hand them to the girls.
We all settle on the oversized sectional, and I glance out at the twinkling lights in the distance. When I look up, Cosette is staring at me and she smiles. My fucking chest squeezes so tight I think it might explode. This is also new.
Before I can respond, Gus spits wine across the coffee table, along with an enormous chunk of an olive. My head falls back in laughter, and I’m thankful for the wood floors we’ve installed in all the condos.
“What the motherfucking hell? Juniper Holloway ... no fucking more!” he shouts, moving to his feet, and we lose it.
My brother is as theatrical as they come. And he has a sensitivity to olives ever since he binged on some of Mya’s mother’s secret recipes. Juniper fucking Holloway is a wives’ tale that my brother has taken far too seriously.
He swore off all olives months ago. Every bar he’s visited has heard the story, because he wants to be sure no one ever accidentally drops olive juice, or God forbid, an olive itself in his cocktail. And he’s all about the bar garnishes, just not olives.
So … in true Taylor form, I always keep a stash of olives in the fridge hidden in an old cream cheese container. Just in case. There is no one more fun to prank than Gus Taylor.
Cosette is on her feet, hurrying over to him like he’s been wounded. “Oh my gosh. Are you okay?”
The rest of us are still trying to gain our composure, and she glances back at us with concern.
“He’s fine. He’s just ridiculous about olives,” Emma says, swiping at the tears streaming down her face from laughing so hard.
“Brother. Did you do that?” Gus’ face is so serious, it takes all I have in me to shake my head no. “Please say you’re fucking with me. I can’t take any more of this curse.”
Spence covers his face with both hands and tries to stop himself from laughing.
“What curse?” Cosette asks, as Gus reaches for her hand and places the back of it against his forehead as if he has now come down with a fever.
“Juniper Holloway,” he whimpers, and Jesse grabs some napkins and starts cleaning up the mess.
“Why would Juniper Holloway put an olive in your wine glass?”
Cosette asks before telling him he doesn’t feel warm and returning her hand back to her lap.
Her lavender gaze locks with mine and she smiles and shakes her head with confusion.
“Probably because Gus was nosing around in my business again,” I say, raising a brow at him.
“Noooooo. You wouldn’t dare, Caden. Not when you know my sensitivity to olives. It brings it all back up for me. My asshole was on fire, man.”
“I’m just saying. Maybe Juniper Holloway thinks you’re barking up the wrong tree. And why the fuck are you tracking my location?”
“Because I worry about you. And what do you do? You invite the devil in to fuck with me.” He pushes to his feet and shakes his head.
The dude really believes in this one, and I almost feel guilty. Almost. But when you grow up with three brothers and one sister, you learn how to have their backs and when to fuck with them. And I have Gus’ number. He makes it far too easy. I basically just confessed, but he still isn’t sure. He marches to the refrigerator and searches the shelves, never considering that they could be hidden in a decoy container. It isn’t rocket science.
“I don’t see any fucking olives in here, man.”
Emma and Mya fall back in a fit of giggles again.
“He makes it too goddamn easy,” Spence whispers.
“He really does,” I say.
“Don’t worry, brother. I’ve got your back,” Jesse says.
Gus pours himself another glass of wine in a fresh glass and uses a fork to swirl in the liquid to make sure there are no surprises.
He drops back down to sit with us and we pull ourselves together. Even Cosette is struggling not to laugh now.
She fits right in.
“So, are you going to take the condo?” Spence asks.
“I am. Yes. Thank you guys so much for offering it to me. I’m really excited about it.”
“Well, that will work out nicely.” Gus smirks. “Living next door to Mr. Fake-A-Date.”
Cosette’s cheeks pink up, and I’m ready to drop another olive in his glass.
“Don’t be a dicksausage,” I hiss.
“So protective. Are you two kiddos certain this is pretend? Because I’m getting all sorts of feels over here.”
“Gus, zip it. He’s helping her out. Like that Hallmark movie about the promise. What was it?” Spence looks around like we’ll know the answer and then snaps his fingers. “The Mistletoe Promise, that’s it. It doesn’t hurt anyone, so no harm, no foul, right?” He stands and offers a hand to Emma.
“You’re such a poet when it comes to words, Old Solemn,” she purrs.
“Fake, shmake. We don’t care. Mean Mug tomorrow with me and Emma?” Mya asks Cosette, as if this whole arrangement is normal.
“I don’t know what that is, but count me in,” Cosette says.
“Perfect. We want all the deets on this little … arrangement.” Mya is on her feet and Jesse wraps an arm around her.
They all make their way out, but Gus stretches out on the couch. “I like you, Cosette. You’re the nicest girl he’s ever brought home … even if it’s not real, I’d like to keep you.”
I groan. “She’s not a puppy, dicknub.”
Cosette snorts then slaps her hand over her mouth. “Dicknub? What?”
I grin at her. “Welcome to the brothers.” I point at Gus. “Go home. I hope you have many olives in your nightmares tonight.”
Gus pulls me in for a hug. He’s a teddy bear when you get right down to it. He stops to hug Cosette.
“You know, if you get tired of fake dating this guy … you can real date me anytime.” He kisses the top of her head and I roll my eyes.
“Don’t let the door hit you in the ass.”
“Women happen to like this ass,” he says, as I close the door behind him. He’s still laughing as he walks down the hall.
I drop to sit beside Cosette on the couch.
“I like your family,” she says. “They’re so … real. And fun. And normal.”
“You think what you just witnessed is normal?” I laugh as I take a sip of my wine.
“Well, you just had dinner with a dog wearing a satin robe who humped a giraffe the entire time. My parents are trying to push an arranged marriage on me with a guy who couldn’t remain faithful for a week. My sister and her husband have nothing to say that doesn’t involve dollar signs. Yeah … it was normal. And really refreshing.”
I clink my glass with hers. “You’re the best fake girlfriend I’ve ever had.”